


The Woodshed

by notlucy



Series: The Brownstone in Brooklyn [15]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Awesome Peggy Carter, BDSM, Birching, Catholic Guilt, Cock & Ball Torture, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Domme Peggy Carter, F/M, Fucking, Good BDSM Etiquette, Impact Play, Masochist Steve Rogers, Multi, Old-Fashioned Steve Rogers, POV Peggy Carter, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy, Sub Steve Rogers, Temperature Play, again kind of, bastinado, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 02:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Peggy takes Steve to the woodshed. Quite literally.





	The Woodshed

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be read as a standalone - you don't need to be familiar with the other fics in the series. For context: Peggy, Steve, and Bucky are all together and have been spending the holidays with friends in a secluded cabin. They have a happy, consensual and heavily-negotiated BDSM dynamic in which Peggy tops, Steve switches, and Bucky subs. This particular story is ninety percent Steggy, but Bucky makes an appearance at the end if you're a fan of World War Threesome. 
> 
> If you're interested in reading more about the adventures of this particular trio and their kinky shenanigans, check out the rest of the [Brownstone in Brooklyn](http://archiveofourown.org/series/804555) series. For more cabin-related hijinks, including Spideypool and additional Avengers, start with [Way Up North Where the Air Gets Cold](http://archiveofourown.org/series/897735).

Peggy had been contemplating how to give Steve something special for the holidays for several weeks before the opportunity presented itself. Said opportunity came in the form of the cabin their friends had secured for the whole group. A cabin with multiple bedrooms, a beautiful kitchen, several roaring fireplaces…

And a woodshed.

An honest to God woodshed. Just to the edge of the property, tucked away near the treeline. Peggy had noted it with some interest when they’d received the initial photos of the property for perusal and approval, filing it away in her mind as a distinct possibility.

A possibility that was made all the more possible when they arrived at the property, and she snuck away to survey the potential. As it turned out, the shed was perfect. It was set at an angle, facing away from the cabin and towards the woods, so anything happening within it couldn’t be seen from the house. However, it wasn’t entirely enclosed, meaning anything that occurred might also expose the participants to the elements. It was awfully cold and snowy in those woods. There were piles of logs taking up two of the three stalls, the third filled partially with wood but also with various and sundry tools.

Yes, Peggy decided, it would do very well indeed.

She kept Steve on his toes through Christmas. He knew _something_ was coming, but he didn’t know what. She’d put a switch (along with some coal) in his stocking as promised on Christmas morning, causing his cheeks to heat as he endured some good-natured ribbing from their friends (well, mostly Wade). Steve, for all that he was uncomfortable with bringing certain parts of their dynamic into public view, was growing more at ease with doing so in front of their little group of compatriots.

Still. She was going to make him wait. They went sledding, built a fire, cooked a massive dinner and played games with their new arrivals for hours before retiring to bed. Peggy set the alarm on her watch, warning Bucky (who had agreed to pretend to be asleep) and waking at precisely four-thirty. She got out of bed, silently as she could, and put on long-underwear, jeans and a sweater, along with her hiking boots. Over that she layered her coat, a hat, and a pair of leather gloves that would allow her to keep a grip on the implement without having her fingers freeze off.

Steve would have no such luxury.

Once she was dressed, she came round to his side of the bed and threaded a hand into his hair, giving him just a moment to wake up at the touch and see it was her before she pulled, roughly, jerking his head up and off the pillow.

“Get up,” she snapped, pleased to note the confusion followed by a half-smile as he realized. “What on earth are you smiling at? Get out of bed this instant.”

He was quick to respond, she would give him that, scrambling up in his pajamas, feet bare, hair a tousled mess.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” she asked, preferring to keep him on his toes with exactly _what_ he was in trouble for.

“Uh…” he managed, casting a glance back at Bucky, who was most definitely awake, but keeping his face carefully turned away. Bucky had no interest in their heavier play, for obvious reasons, but he liked helping her take care of Steve afterward. “No, ma’am. I mean...yes ma’am?”

She snorted, cocking her head to the side and placing a hand on her hip. “Well, which is it?”

“I uh…” he licked his lips, falling into his role easily enough. “I guess I figured you wouldn’t find out, ma’am. About it.”

“You thought wrong,” she said. “I see everything. And I seem to recall promising you that the next time you were caught, I wouldn’t be so lenient.”

“That’s...I do remember, ma’am,” he agreed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, making himself seem small, somehow. She loved it when he did that.

“Right, then,” she agreed. “It’s the woodshed this time, Rogers.” She didn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes darkened, pupils wide. He’d confessed a schoolboy’s fantasy to her once or twice - a strict teacher, punishing him soundly. She was happy to fulfill it as a belated Christmas present. “Maybe a proper thrashing will push those filthy thoughts from your mind. Quick march.”

He looked frozen in place for a moment, before crossing the room to get his socks and shoes. Peggy huffed a sigh, feigning impatience, walking over to him and pinching his ear with gloved fingers as he finished getting the second boot on, not allowing him to bother with the laces. He yelped in surprise as she twisted her digits, loud enough to alert the neighbors if any of them were up and listening.

“Let’s go,” she said, her tone brokering no argument as she kept hold of his ear, forcing him to bend, walking awkwardly down the hallway, only releasing him once they’d reached the stairs. She’d left a lantern on the entry table, one that had a lovely, warm glow that nearly approximated firelight, and could be dimmed as necessary. She pushed open the front door and was pleased to note it was snowing again. Steve would be fine, considering he burned hot as a furnace, but the temperature wouldn’t be pleasant for him, either.

He never much liked it when things were pleasant.

Walking through the snow required a bit of dexterity and Steve struggled with it, his untied shoes and flimsy pajama pants leaving his feet damp by the time they reached the shed. She led him to the third stall, where she regarded him impassively, pointing to the corner. “Stand there. Facing me.”

He did as he was told, blue eyes watching her as she walked to where she’d stashed her bag earlier, alongside a small space heater. Lucky for Steve, the shed was wired. The heater wouldn’t provide much warmth, but she wasn’t such a sadist that she’d leave him with nothing. She put the lantern down as well, adjusting the brightness until it cast a warm glow around the space, illuminating the snow outside for just a few feet before everything faded to black. After that, she reached into her bag, pulling out the birch she planned on using to take him apart. She’d spent ages sourcing the perfect implement - eight switches, bound together by hand, ordered from a craftsperson who specialized in whips and the like. The branches themselves were supple and hopefully wouldn’t break, no matter how harsh the chastisement. There were still a few rough places where they had been stripped of their stems, and she hoped that the birch might leave marks on Steve that would linger for longer than a day.

She watched him as she revealed the tool, his eyes widening as she held it out for him to examine. “Have you ever seen one of these before?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, lost in some memory. It was undoubtedly an old-fashioned sort of punishment, one that he’d told her had been used a time or two in his school when he was small. Never on him, though he’d had his fair share of rulers brought down across his palms. The birch, however, was for the truly recalcitrant young man, when all else had failed.

“Mmm.” Peggy smoothed her hand across the wood before testing it twice against her skin. The impact stung, even through the leather of her glove. “I’m afraid it’s the only option, for such a wicked boy.”

He nodded, squirming in discomfort at her words, his eyes never leaving her hands. “Yes ma’am,” he managed.

“I won’t be going easy on you,” she said, gauging his reaction as she spoke. He was transfixed. It was charming. “It will hurt _terribly_. You’ll cry, and you’ll beg me to stop, but I won’t. Because you deserve this. Don’t you?”

Another nod and she could see the hard line of his cock against the flannel of his pajamas. Typical Steve - frigid temperatures couldn’t keep that warm-blooded part of him down. Still, she could use that to her advantage later.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he said again, his voice nearly a whisper. “I deserve it.”

She nodded, pointing to where she’d spent considerable time stacking the logs in a way that would allow him to drape himself over them, both feet on the ground, his body supported by the wood. “Take your position, then.”

He did, and for lack of a better option, he pillowed his hands under his cheek, turning his head to the side. She would allow him that slight bit of comfort - for the moment.

“Now,” she said, moving behind him and placing a hand on the small of his back. “If you were simply...a poor student, or you’d been rude to a teacher, I’d be obliged to warm you up with my hand.” She watched, pleased, as he shifted his position, realizing where she must be heading. “However. For such a depraved individual, we must start as we mean to go on. Severely.”

Steve moaned at that, his hips bucking, the rough wood undoubtedly dragging over his cock. “Normally,” she continued. “I’d begin over your clothing. But boys like you don’t deserve such nice things, do they?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, which gave Peggy the opportunity to reach up with her free hand to yank his head up by the hair.

“No!” he exclaimed, shaking his head as best he could. “No, ma’am. We don’t.”

“That’s better,” she said, careful not to give him too much praise as she released her hold on him. “Take your trousers down.”

He hadn’t been given permission to stand up, and he knew better than to test her. So he brought his hands back to push his trousers down, just to the tops of his thighs.

“More,” she said, forcing herself to sound bored, relishing his discomfort as he squirmed. The position made it difficult for him to complete the task with his dignity intact, as he had to wriggle against the unyielding wood until his pajamas were around his knees. “That will do for now,” she said. “Put your arms out in front of you and don’t move them. If you do, I’ll birch your hands.”

Steve let out a soft “oh” at the very idea. Peggy smiled affectionately - she’d have to find a way to do it, even if he didn’t put himself in harm’s way. Her darling was so terribly predictable.

She took a moment to admire him, pale skin illuminated in the warm glow of the lantern, the way he was shivering just a bit. It was hard to tell if it was from the cold air or anticipation - she hoped it was both. He was beautiful when he submitted to her, and there would always be a part of her marveling at the fact that someone like Steve Rogers - someone so proud, so stubborn, so defensive - had chosen her as the person he let his guard down for. Let himself submit in the way he craved, the way he couldn’t reveal to anyone else. She loved him terribly.

She’d practiced with the birch on one of Steve’s old punching bags, but she wanted to get a feel for it again, as it had been nearly a week. So she swished it through the air, familiarizing herself once more with the weight. The noise it made as she moved it had the added benefit of making Steve jump. He was very twitchy, and as such, she gave him no warning before she brought the birch down on his skin. He gasped, blue eyes flying open as a few faint, pink lines made themselves immediately evident. They faded quickly, but Peggy felt a newfound confidence in the fact that he _would_ mark up if she worked hard enough.

So she did her damndest, bringing the bundle of branches down time and again on his arse, the backs of his thighs, anywhere on display that could handle the impact. It didn’t take long for him to start reddening nicely, certain spots darker than others as blood pooled under the skin. He wasn’t making much noise yet, though, just the occasional whimper.

“There,” Peggy said, after what she imagined was at _least_ ten minutes of those lighter, stinging swats. “That’s you all warmed up.”

She didn’t imagine the way he shuddered, licked his lips. “Warmed up, ma’am?” he asked, which she was going to allow because he hadn’t been forbidden from speaking.

“Of course,” she said. “I haven’t really begun your punishment yet, silly boy.”

“Oh,” he said, quiet.

“If I didn’t warm you up,” she said, slowly, as though lecturing a small child. “Your skin would break far too soon. And we want this to take an awfully long time, so you won’t soon forget it. Don’t we?” To punctuate her point, she slid a hand in between his legs, cupping his sack and squeezing just enough to make him gasp and start forward, grunting when his cock rutted up against the wood. “ _Don’t_ we?” she repeated, increasing the pressure.

“Yes!” he yelped. Peggy smirked, twisting her hand, Steve groaning out loud as he realized his error. “Yes, ma’am!” He amended quickly, breathing heavily when she let him go.

“Wonderful,” she replied, taking four steps back. “Stand up and remove the rest of your clothing, then get back into position.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He got to his feet, kicking off his shoes and trousers before starting to unbutton his shirt. It was damn cold, even with the heater, but he would be fine. They’d endured colder weather for the sake of a good fuck in Europe, and if his prick hadn’t frozen off then, it wouldn’t freeze off now. She watched, impassive, as he moved the bundle of clothing to the side and lay back atop the woodpile, every inch of his front coming into contact with the rough surface. He’d undoubtedly have some splinters before this was all through. She didn’t think he’d mind a bit.

“Spread your legs,” she said, once he was settled.

He did so without a fuss, making her smile. She stepped closer, taking her glove off before running her hand over his ass, still warm, her index finger circling his hole teasingly. She felt him tense, and she tutted. “Such a wicked boy, displaying yourself _so_ wantonly,” she murmured, breaching him dry. She didn’t push in far, just enough to set him on edge. “Mmm, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked this.”

“I do, ma’am.” Huh. Steve was full of surprises. She paused, waiting to see if there was more coming. “I know...I know it’s wrong,” he huffed. “But I...I like showing myself to you, ma’am. Like it when you...touch me like that.”

Oh, _Steve_. She nearly laughed but managed to control it. So he wanted to be bad. She could work with that. “I see,” she said. “But you must understand that it’s wrong. Sinful. That I’m punishing you for your own good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, breath hitching in his throat as her finger pressed deeper. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are,” she said, withdrawing her finger and patting his left cheek before replacing her glove. “But not as sorry as you’re going to be.” She wasted no time, bringing the birch down at a different angle, laying an angry stripe directly up the crack of his ass, careful to avoid his lower back, which meant his perineum caught some of the impact as well.

He howled, the unexpected stroke sending him scrabbling forward, searching for some purchase.

“Don’t you _dare_ move,” she said, bringing the birch down again, this time across the backs of his thighs. “You’ve earned this. Now take it.”

She hit him again before he could get properly settled. Then again. Then one hard enough to wring another cry out of him. And then, well, she didn’t stop. He knew his safewords - knew how to end his torment if he wanted to. But she knew her boy, and she didn’t think he would need them.

Getting him out of his clothing had been a stroke of genius. There was simply _so much_ skin to mark. She was careful to avoid any place that couldn’t take the hits - his sacrum, the backs of his knees, his ankles. Beyond that she was indiscriminate. His broad shoulders bore a considerable amount of the load because she was fascinated by the way he would twitch and writhe, smooth muscles shifting under his skin. His bottom was a patchwork of thin red lines, as were his thighs. With his legs spread, she could aim an occasional vicious swish of the birch at the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs as well. She was more careful with his calves, but she landed a few painful blows on the meat there, causing him to twist away in discomfort.

He was gorgeous for her, his bitten back cries eventually turning to sobs and pleas, fingers digging into the log he was holding hard enough to splinter it. She imagined it was taking significant energy for him to remain still, so she didn’t begrudge him turning the wood to kindling. Even as the tears came, his nose stuffed up and his howls of pain absolutely pitiful, he spread himself wider for her, inviting her gaze, her punishment, her attention. God, but he was perfect.

And Peggy? She was exhausted, her breath coming hard and fast. Despite the frigid air, she’d peeled off her gloves and hat, cheeks flushed with the exertion of working Steve over.

Still, it wasn’t _quite_ enough. She wanted to leave her mark, just as she’d promised. So she struck him again, concentrating on the curve of his backside until the skin broke, a few thin lines of blood welling up after an especially cruel blow. She’d never gone that far with him before, but he’d asked for it. And she was loathe to deny him anything.

“Oh…” she said, laying the birch across his lower back, giving him a moment to come to his senses. “I’m afraid you’re bleeding.”

He let out a shuddery breath, a shiver wracking his frame. “Hurts, ma’am,” he managed, and as she stepped back, she could see the tear tracks drying on his cheeks.

“I know,” she replied, moving to crouch down near his head, watching him closely. “It’s supposed to hurt.”

He locked eyes with her, pupils blown, and she knew he was very nearly somewhere else - somewhere that the pain didn’t matter, or it mingled so heavily with pleasure that he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his words a bit slurred.

“What do you think?” she asked, running a hand over the abused skin of his shoulder. “Have you learned your lesson? Have you had enough?”

He shook his head immediately, a whine leaving his throat. “No ma’am,” he panted, shaking his head. “I’m still...still thinking terrible things. Need...please punish me more. Please?”

Her heart seized up at the plea, and it took everything in her not to lean in and kiss him. Instead, she forced herself to be cold - to be the authority figure he so desperately craved. “You’re right,” she replied, impassive as she got to her feet. He shivered, eyes following her. “You’re a terrible boy, and you deserve what you get. But I do believe that…” she hesitated, an idea coming to her. “One must always make good _choices_. So...I believe I’ll offer you a choice.”

“A choice, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she said, pausing for a moment as she considered what options to give him. “Twenty more strokes to your arse, hard as I can make them. Or, ten to your arse and five between your legs.” His eyes went wide at that. Interesting - she had been fairly sure that was going to be too much for him. Then again, Steve was not a man to back down from a challenge. So she thought of a third choice, based on his reaction. “Or...seven to your arse, five between your legs. Six to your feet.”

She had forgotten how to count, she realized. The third option was undoubtedly the worst of the three, and she was fully expecting him to choose the second when he piped up, voice hoarse. “Third one, ma’am,” he said. “I need it.”

 _Jesus,_ Steve. She very nearly turned him down, but he _was_ asking.

“You don’t have needs, you wicked thing,” she said instead. “You’ll have what you deserve, though, and that’s what you’ve chosen.”

His cheeks flushed, and he nodded. God, she was _aching_ , both from the exertion of the work as well as the persistent throb between her legs. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so turned on by seeing him so broken, but oh, she wanted him.

She couldn’t have him. Not yet. Not while he still needed something from her. So, she cleared her throat. “You’ll count each one and ask for the next. If you lose count or take too long, we’ll begin again. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he stammered.

She didn’t bother warning him, the birch landing firmly on the reddest part of his rump.

“One! Th-thank you, ma’am...another, please?”

Oh, perfect boy. She hadn’t asked him to thank her, but if he wanted to be polite, she certainly wasn’t going to object.

By the fourth swing, the cuts on his skin were deepening, and he was whimpering. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was trying to fuck into the wood. Incorrigible little masochist.

Still, he was managing to keep count, which meant he was lucid enough to continue or use a safeword if necessary. The sixth stroke was a close call, a slightly lower one, right on the crease of his arse and thigh. He howled, jerking forward, and Peggy counted to ten in her head, hoping for his sake that he’d speak up before she got there. Otherwise, they’d have to start all over again.

“S-six,” he gasped, just in the nick of time. “Sorry, m’sorry. Six, please more, please?”

“One more of these,” she replied, terribly proud of him. Unable to show it. So she tried to convey it in the strength of her arm, how cleanly she laid the last stripe across his abused skin. He remembered to count that one.

She gave him a moment to recover, using the time to shake out her arm, marveling at the way his advanced healing factor already had some of the smaller cuts beginning to close. The marks remained, though. She’d have to take a photograph for him later.

“Get up,” she said when she felt he’d had long enough. “You’re not finished yet, young man.”

He liked that, she could tell, biting his lip as he got to his feet and faced her. His whole body was flushed and trembling, the light of the lantern casting his shadow on the woodpile behind him. He was magnificent, cock still standing at attention despite the abuse she’d made him suffer. She wondered, idly, if it would last through the next portion of his ordeal. Only one way to find out.

“Put your hands behind your head, legs spread,” she instructed, her voice soft.

He did as he was told, watching her as she moved to stand at his side. She had to be careful, God knew. Steve never objected to having his bits manhandled, but hitting his balls with a birch was a damn sight different than using her hand or a crop. She could damage him if she wasn’t careful, and she damn sure wasn’t going to hit him with any sort of real force.

“Hold your position,” she said, hoping her voice held a tinge of menace to it. “I still mean to birch your hands if you don’t.”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered, watching her.

She brought the switch up between his legs, striking him in the place he was most vulnerable, watching as the pain and shock of it bloomed across his face. She’d pulled her punch, so to speak, but he still bit back a cry - apparently he’d underestimated how much it was going to hurt.

And he’d forgotten to count it.

“Pity,” she murmured, stepping forward and resting a hand on his stomach so she could feel the tension in the muscles there. “You didn’t count. Now we’ll have to do it again.”

“Oh no, please…” he said immediately, shaking his head. “Please ma’am, don’t. It hurts.”

She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering schoolmarm and patted his stomach gently. “I know it does, but you’ve brought it on yourself. This is your fault. You understand that, don’t you?”

That had struck some sort of a nerve, as he nodded, blinking back tears and straightening his back. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry...I’m sorry you have to do this. Because I’m bad. Thinking awful things about you.”

“I know you’re sorry,” she replied. “I simply want you to be better. That’s all. Now, count.”

She repeated the stroke, slightly harder that time.

He didn’t forget again.

On the fifth, however, he faltered, barely managing to grunt out a “five” before he lost position, grabbing himself and shying away from her, his instincts overruling his desire to please. She tut-tutted, reaching out to pull his hair, twisting his face up to hers. “Five strokes to the hands, then, for breaking position.”

She let him have his moment after that, though, clutching himself to try and relieve some of the pain. Eventually, his keening subsided, and she felt reasonably confident he could take more.

“Are we quite finished sniveling?” she asked, surveying him. He stood, naked, hands at his side, his face a mess of tears and snot. Her darling boy, trying so hard to be good for her.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied.

“Right then, hands or feet first?” she queried, as though she were making a grocery list.

“Uh...hands, ma’am,” he shrugged, chewing on his lip.

“That’s fine,” she said. “You won’t need to count these. Hold them out.”

He did, and she brought the birch down five times, not too hard, noting with approval that he never once flinched or tried to pull them back.

“You took those well,” she commented when she was finished.

He shrugged, swiping a hand across his eyes. “Sister Cecilia used a ruler at Sunday school when we didn’t study our catechism.”

Peggy got the feeling that Sister Cecilia wasn’t an imaginary person, but she chose not to comment further. She pointed to the ground instead. “Lie on your back, legs straight up in the air.”

The position wasn’t dignified, nor was it comfortable to hold for someone who had already been put through the wringer, especially on his abused shoulders. Traditionally bastinado took place with the recipient on their front, but Peggy _did_ love seeing Steve’s face. (Truthfully, she’d never seen the appeal of whipping someone’s soles before, simply for practical purposes. But Steve had made his choice.)

He did as she asked, toes curling and uncurling as he waited, anticipatory, watching her with wide eyes.

“Six,” she said quietly. “And I really think these ought to be rather hard, don’t you? So you can be reminded of what a filthy boy you are wherever you go.”

He grunted at that, and she swore she saw his cock twitch against his belly. God, the things that did it for him never ceased to amaze her. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t want to forget what I am.”

She stepped closer to him, tapping the birch against his arches lightly. “And what are you?”

“Bad.”

“You certainly are,” she agreed, bringing the implement down on his upturned soles - not as hard as she’d threatened, but that had been more of an idle threat, as she did need him to be able to walk.

She watched, curiously, as the skin first turned pure white before pinking up. Steve froze, his mouth falling open in surprise before he yelped, unable to help himself as the pain ricocheted up his body. Surely, she thought, every synapse in his brain was firing, telling him it was enough enough _enough_. But damned if he didn’t hold the position, shivering, counting the stroke and imploring her to give him another.

She delivered five more of the best, and only when the deed was done did she drop to her knees beside him, half in the game and half out of it.

“It’s over,” she said, reaching up to brush a hand over his cheek. “You took your punishment very well, darling boy.”

His gaze was hazy, a little clouded, though he smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. You’re really nice to do that for me.”

She shook her head, attempting to keep up her facade but failing, unable to keep the small smile off her face. “Just doing my job. But…” Another burst of inspiration. “There is...something you could do. To thank me for helping you.”

“Yeah?” he said, caught somewhere dreamy.

“Mmm,” she nodded, “sometimes I have...bad thoughts of my own. And I can’t go to any _good_ boys, you see?”

“No,” he said. “No good boys.”

“I need a boy like you to help me. Can you do that, Steve?”

He smiled, nodding his head. Pliant and submissive, just as she liked him.

“My wicked boy,” she murmured. “Follow me.”

She got to her feet, walking back to her bag and pulling out the warm, felt blanket she’d tucked away inside. She’d meant it to be for Steve, but right then she was thinking only of her own comfort as she draped it over the woodpile. Steve, meanwhile, had clambered to his feet, though standing on them had to be hurting him. Then again, what was the fun of having a masochist if you couldn’t leave them with lingering reminders?

She smiled lasciviously, turning her back to him and undoing the button on her jeans, lowering them just enough to give him access before bending over and looking back at him over her shoulder. “Fuck me,” she instructed.

Steve didn’t have to be told twice, making the journey in two short strides. God, she was wet. He slid in easily, filling her to the hilt, wringing a sharp cry from her throat. The angle was perfect, hitting that spot within her that could nearly -  _nearly -_ bring her to orgasm, though she’d never been able to come from penetration alone. So she wasted no time in pushing her right hand between her legs, touching herself as Steve set a rhythm, fucking into her deep and hard, the sounds of their bodies coming together echoing into the darkness of the woods.

It didn’t take long - she knew what she liked, and she came with a shout, twitching and spasming around Steve’s cock before she slumped bonelessly against the blanket. He followed fairly soon after, rutting into her without much grace but with a certain charming, dogged intensity. His hips stuttered, and he made a ‘guh’ sound before she felt him filling her up, pulsing inside of her body. Becoming hers all over again.

Steve held her for a while, his heavy frame draped over hers. Once he caught his breath, his still half-hard cock slipped from between her legs, and he helped her up, turning her around so he could lean down and kiss her properly. She wrapped him up tightly, her hands smoothing over the wounded skin of his back before settling around his waist.

“Oh, my darling,” she murmured when she pulled back, peppering light kisses all over his face. “Oh, my sweet, darling boy. I love you. You were so good for me. So perfect.”

Steve wasn’t quite there with her, of course, so it came as no surprise when all he managed was a slow smile and a sweet, “hi.”

“Hi,” she replied, kissing the tip of his nose. He _did_ make her laugh. “You’re going to freeze. Half a moment, I’ll take care of it.”

Guilt washed over her as she pulled the blanket off the woodpile and draped it over his shoulders. He clutched it gratefully, smiling that same sweet, dopey smile. Truthfully, she hadn’t been planning on the sex, or for him to be naked in the cold for quite so long. He _seemed_ fine, but she wanted to make sure. She went back to her bag, pulling out the longjohns and flannel pants she’d put in there earlier, as well as his coat and a pair of thick hiking socks.

“Wow,” he managed when he saw all of it.

“I know,” she said. “But I want to put something on your cuts first, so just use the blanket for now.”

He nodded, holding still as she tended to the minuscule cuts all over his back and legs. Most of them were healing already, but there were a few deeper ones she spread some salve on. She pulled out splinters where she found them as well.

By the time she was through, Steve was really shivering, and she felt even guiltier. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Can you help me a little?” He could, albeit clumsily, and together they got him dressed. The shivering subsided, and he smiled, still a bit goofy.

“My feet hurt,” he informed her, as she had him sit down on the small bench in the shed. Kneeling down, she began putting the socks on for him.

“I’d imagine so,” she replied with a smile. “How about your arse?”

“Huh,” he agreed, shifting his weight. “Yeah, that too.”

“Funny boy,” she teased, pressing a kiss to his knee. He hummed his agreement, lifting a hand to brush through her hair. “Did you like that?”

“Uh huh,” he replied, likely not up to a more articulate response. “So good, Pegs. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, reaching for his boots to slide them on. They wouldn’t be comfortable, but he only had to get to the house. “Do you think you can walk, or do you want me to see if Bucky will come and carry you?”

“Wanna walk,” he mumbled, heaving himself to his feet. Typical. She supported him as best she could while they made their way inside. It was only a bit before six when they arrived, and she was pleased to note that they were alone for the time being.

(Although there were undoubtedly _noises_ coming from somewhere upstairs, and if she were a betting woman, she’d guess the person currently shouting his head off was one Peter Parker. Good for them. Peter and Steve could comfort one another later. Right then, Steve was hers to worry about.)

She got him out of his jacket and shoes before bundling him into a blanket on the couch, where he curled up on his side and closed his eyes. She hated to leave him, but he needed to fortify himself, so she went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of water, as well as two mugs of tea and a plate full of poorly-decorated Christmas cookies.

“Budge up, darling, drink a bit of this for me,” she coaxed as she joined him again, nudging him into a sitting position. He did, still docile while he drained the bottle and lay back down, head in her lap. “Sweet Steve,” she murmured, smoothing his hair back before offering him a bite of cookie from her fingers. He seemed happy to have her feed him, and he ate two of the treats before his breathing evened out. That was fine - if he wanted to sleep, he’d earned it.

Bucky came downstairs about five minutes later, just as she’d told him to, looking rather fetching in his flannel pajama pants and one of Steve’s sweaters. Peggy put a finger to her lips, indicating Steve’s sleeping state. Bucky nodded in understanding, smiling and coming to sit down on the other end of the couch, where he shifted Steve a little to pull his feet into his lap.

“Don’t rub his feet,” Peggy cautioned in a whisper.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, though he chose not to ask for details. “Sure. Everything went well?”

“He seemed happy,” she said, shrugging as she brushed a hand through Steve’s hair.

“Good,” Bucky said, smiling. Steve’s happiness was of paramount importance to them both, after all.

She was quiet for a moment, leaning over to hand a mug of tea to Bucky while keeping the other for herself. “Who was Sister Cecilia?” she asked.

Bucky looked confused for a second, before stifling a laugh. “Uh, Stevie’s Sunday school teacher when he was twelve or thirteen?”

“So she was real?”

“Oh yeah, she was real,” he laughed. “Face like Vivien Leigh. Curves you could see even under the habit. He had it bad for her, used to get in trouble just to…” he paused, realizing, looking down at Steve and laughing. “Son of a bitch.”

“Oh my God,” Peggy managed, trying to stifle her own laughter lest she jostle Steve. “I had no _idea_ he was so religious.”

“Father, son and holy shit, Pegs,” Bucky smirked.

“You’re better’n her any day,” Steve mumbled, startling them both. He cracked one eye open and grinned. Faker.

Peggy smiled, brushing her thumb across his bottom lip as he shifted to look up at her. Leaning in, she pressed a light kiss to his mouth and shrugged. “I should hope so, my darling. Happy Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Obviously, risk-aware consensual kink is slightly different when you're dealing with a super soldier - Steve can take a lot more than other people, and Peggy plans accordingly. The basics of this scene were negotiated in advance, and the trio has long-standing safewords that can be employed at any time, in any context. (Oh, and Peggy has taken full advantage of the modern era and has an IUD. STDs aren't such an issue with super soldiers, either, but they've all been tested.)
> 
> Tomorrow, Crockzilla will be back with a story that explains just what was happening to make Peter Parker holler quite so loudly. It's called _The New Old-Fashioned Way_ and it's a delight.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at [notlucy](https://notlucy.tumblr.com). You can find my co-conspirator at [crockzilla](https://crockzilla.tumblr.com).


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